She smiled. "I shall be there only a week if I keep on gaining as fast as I am now."
"A fortnight," interpolated Mrs. Burns, "is the earliest possible date of your leaving us. And not then unless we think you fit."
"Did you ever know of such kindness?" Anne Linton asked softly of King. "To a perfect stranger?"
He nodded. "Nothing you could tell me of their kindness could surprise me. About that fortnight—would it be asking a great deal of you to keep on sending me that daily note?"
"Isn't there a telephone in your own room at home?" she asked.
"Yes—how did you know?"
"I guessed it. Wouldn't a little telephone talk do quite as well—or better—than a letter?"
"It would be very nice," admitted King. "But I should hate to do without the letter. The days are each a month long at present, you know, and each hour is equal to twenty-four. Make it a letter, too, will you, please?"
Miss Linton looked at Mrs. Burns. "Do you think circumstances still alter cases?" she inquired.
Her profile, as King caught it again, struck him as a perfect outline. To think of this girl starting out again, travelling alone, selling books from door to door!